


The First Second

by midnight_neverland



Series: Seconds [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_neverland/pseuds/midnight_neverland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are 86,400 seconds in a day. Each one is a flash of lightning on the back of his eyelids. "Isn't that Max Caulfield?" someone shouts and there's a loud clatter as Warren jumps over his chair to glance out his window. Sure enough, Max is standing out in the pouring rain, completely drenched and completely out of it.  Part One of Warren's POV from Seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Second

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a glutton for punishment, it seems. This is a companion series to Seasons, where Max tries to find her way back through life after Chloe dies. If you haven't read Seasons, I'd recommend reading it before this. It's not necessary, but some things might make more sense that way. :)

There are 86,400 seconds in a day. Each one is a flash of lightning on the back of his eyelids. Lightning flashes in the window next to him. It's powerful enough to make the light on his desk flicker and then the power is out completely. He can hear the groans of his dorm-mates through his open door. He sighs as he fumbles for the flashlight in the drawer next to him. Homework assignments are piled onto his desk and he was hoping to crack on them before the storm could make them lose power. No chance now, though.  

"Isn't that Max Caulfield?" someone shouts and there's a loud clatter as Warren jumps over his chair to glance out his window. Sure enough, Max is standing out in the pouring rain, completely drenched and completely out of it.   

"Shit," he mutters, throwing the blinds back against the windowpane. He grabs the hoodie off of his bed and dashes out the door. He barely registers the jeers and laughs of disbelief as he runs past and he thinks it's better that way. It's only been one week since Max's friend had died (that's 604,800 seconds) and the rumors have been rich with just how batshit crazy she has become. She's a zombie shuffling to her classes, only moving when it's time to shuffle to yet another room. Something ugly buries itself in his chest to see her that way and he wants so desperately to take her face in his hands and breathe life back into her. But she is sharp edges and empty eyes and he knows the second he touches her, she will break into a thousand pieces.  

He inhales sharp enough to feel his ribs sting and he bursts through the door outside. He shields his eyes from the rain, but she is exactly where she was a moment ago, in the middle of the yard with her face blank and open to the rainfall.  

"Shit," he swears again and takes off towards her. "Max," he calls, but she doesn’t move, not even when he places a hand on her shoulder and turns her to face him. She looks through him, her face slack, her eyes deadpan. He sighs and she sways on her feet. He reaches to catch her and pulls the hoodie over her frail frame. She is all bones in clammy skin and he ties the strings under her chin with unsteady hands.   

"Let's get you inside," he murmurs, and she is limp in his grasp, a leaf tumbling wherever the wind pushes her. He wonders vaguely how many seconds will pass before he sees her smile again.  


End file.
